


Maybe We Might

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:37:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2532665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither of them put much stock in soulmates</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe We Might

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waroftheposes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waroftheposes/gifts).



Everybody gets the words at sixteen. Grantaire woke up the morning of his sixteenth birthday, groggy and scrambling to do his chemistry homework before he had to leave for school. As he scratched out some answers on a wrinkled piece of notebook paper, he felt an itch on his upper arm. He went to scratch it, and as he lifted his hand up, remembered that it was his birthday, something he typically avoided after years of being forgotten and disappointed. 

He scrambled to pull up his sleeve, to see what was written on his left bicep. “Don’t forget I can conjure plagues as well as poetry.” Grantaire had to roll his eyes, only his soulmate would be so dramatic. What ridiculous thing would he say to receive that answer? Would the tone be soft or harsh? Would his soulmate be as disgusted by his unfortunate appearance as all his classmates. His words did nothing to quell his fears of ending up alone.

Enjolras was woken up on his sixteenth birthday by his nanny carrying a tray of pancakes. A single candle burned in the middle, rivaled by Lucja’s bright smile. “M. Enjolras, happy birthday!” She crooned in her accented French. “What are your words, dear?” Enjolras forced a smile, he had no interest in his words, and had forgotten he would be receiving them. She placed her tray on his lap and beckoned him to blow the candle out. He complied.  
“I wasn’t born until 11:20.” He grimaced, and asked a question he didn’t want the answer to. “My parents?”  
“Your father is still in Germany, and Madame had to attend lunch with the society.” Shesmiled sadly. There was a reason Enjolras could speak Polish in primary school. He spent almost all of his childhood with his nanny. But he couldn’t complain, it was what had allowed him to befriend a newly immigrated Combeferre when they were eight.  
Lucja left him alone for the remainder of the morning. He got dressed, finished his history paper that was due in a few weeks, and resolutely tried to forget the promise of his soulmate. At 11:21, he felt the itching that every health book told young children about right on his collarbone. “Well Apollo, aren’t you are ray of sunshine?” was scrawled in wobbly cursive across his clavicle. Enjolras scoffed and gritted his teeth, determined to avoid this “soulmate” at all costs. Fate would not decide who he loved. 

Soulmates did not have to have a relationship. It was true that all soulmates were destined to meet, but that did not mean they would be together. There were too many tales of soulmates meeting in unfortunate places. Soldiers who met and died on the battlefield, often on opposing sides at each other’s hand. There were even stories of people meeting on the boxcars to Hitler’s death camps.Until recently, homosexual soulmates were split up for heterosexual marriages that could “produce children”.

So Grantaire, who was despondent on his best days, had little to no hope in there being someone out there who would stay with him. Enjolras was indifferent but was well versed in mythology, something he had had no interest in prior. If only to put down his sarcastic “soul mate”.

By 23, Grantaire was on his last semester at art school, maybe, if he got his act together. Many of his friends had met their soul mates, including Joly and Bossuet, his two best friends. The two awful friends that had been attending political meetings on campus and had been trying to persuade Grantaire to join them for months. He finally relented one afternoon if only to avoid a project he had due at the end of the week. 

And he was hooked.

These people were so naive, their rationality was not what drew him to this group of rabble rousers. They were so sincere it hurt. Grantaire, jaded by a lifetime of disappointments and from seeing the ugliness in the world, had been become hardened. He saw the cycle of history repeating itself over, and over. A carousel whose attendant walked away for a smoke break.  
But these students really thought they could change the world. And god did Grantaire’s iron heart yearn for them to be right. But the true gateway drug to this ridiculous optimism had been their avenging archangel of a leader. Joly and Bossuet had warned him that the boy was temperamental and gorgeous and that maybe Grantaire should avoid antagonizing him. His friends knew him too well.

Enjolras looked like Gabriel descended to earth. Grantaire could have sworn his jaw dropped when he first saw him. He thought he had a type before, but the stars realigned after he saw Enjolras’ ethereal beauty, with golden hair curling just so around his face, and his jaw clenched in anger at something his friend, Grantaire would later learn was the gregarious Courfeyrac, was informing him of. He earned a sharp elbow in the ribs from Joly for stopping in the doorway.

And then he had spoken. Grantaire could see the wealth dripping from his naive words. This was a rich boy with high ideals and no idea of the real world. But he was not doing it to feel good, that much was clear, he was doing it because he truly loved the people. In the abstract, of course. Three minutes into a rant about the soulmate social constructs keyed Grantaire in on Enjolras’ opinion of love and soulmates, quickly extinguishing any hope he had.

So he kept his mouth shut for once in his life. He watched art in motion instead of antagonising. He attended meetings for about a month without publically saying anything, easy to get away with when he sat in the back of the crowded cafe. It was his sixth meeting when his world tilted on its axis. 

“So I grabbed his collar and shook him.” Enjolras was ranting about a cop standing by while a man was abusing his wife on the street. “He is sworn to protect everyone, and he just stands there. ‘They’re soulmates he says’ claim he can’t do anything according to the law.” Enjolras seethed. Combeferre put his hand on his best friend’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him down, rewarded with a sharp shoulder shrug. “So he arrested me for grabbing him.”  
“Well Enjolras, that wasn’t the best move.”  
Enjolras just growled. “I hate the whole premise of soulmates. Why should one person have complete jurisdiction over another? Because some unknown force said so! I hope I never meet my soulmate, and if I do, I not not belong to them and they are not mine. I want nothing to do with them or the whole thing!” Enjolras’ chest heaved with exertion. He glanced around to the shell shocked faces of his friends.  
Grantaire scoffed loudly, hoping to diffuse some of the tension. After all many in the room were happy in their soul matches, and Enjolras’ rants ended up making them feel guilty for giving in to society. Enjolras’ head whipped around to face Grantaire for the first time. “Well Apollo, aren’t you are ray of sunshine?” Grantaire smirked at the furious leader. Enjolras’ face fell, and then he quickly composed it into a stoic mask.

Enjolras finally got to use the line he had had rehearsed for years. “Don’t forget I can conjure plagues as well as poetry.” He said in a softer tone than he would have liked.

Grantaire dropped back into his seat. Joly gasped, having known what his tattoo said for years now. Enjolras stalked over to the table. Grantaire didn’t want him over here, he had known this would happen, his soulmate wouldn’t want him. But just his luck, his soulmate was brilliant and an amazing person, and Grantaire could never have him. He kept his eyes trained on the wood grain of the table in front of him.  
“Enjolras, please be kind.” Joly whispered as he ushered Bossuet and the others to leave them alone. Grantaire felt Enjolras slide into the seat next to him.

“Hey. It’s Grantaire, right?” Grantaire fidgeted with his hands in his lap, fighting back tears he was angry with himself for crying. “Please look at me.”

Grantaire had no choice but to meet Enjolras’ clear eyes. His expression was no longer one of fury, but the look someone gives a cornered animal to calm it down.

“It’s ok, you don’t want me and that’s fine.” He hated that his voice broke in the middle of the sentence. He felt Enjolras curl a hand around his upper arm. 

“Can I see it?” Grantaire nodded and pulled at his sleeve, dislodging Enjolras’ hand in the process. As soon as the tattoo was visible, Enjolras’ lean fingers were lightly tracing it on Grantaire’s bicep. 

“Want to see mine?” Grantaire nodded again. Enjolras pulled the collar of his shirt down until the looped print of his tattoo could be seen. “I take back the last thing I said ok.” He maintained eye contact with Grantaire. “I don’t take back what I said about autonomy. But I take back wanting absolutely nothing to do with my “soulmate.” He shuffled closer to Grantaire, knocking his shoulder against the other man’s.

“You don’t have to, I know I’m no one’s idea of a soulmate.” Grantaire whispered, eyes downcast once again.  
“Hey, please look at me.” Enjolras pleaded. “Everyone is worthy of love. I would like to start with being your friend. Up until now, I had no interest in a romantic soulmate, and that might still be true. But I am willing to spend time with you.” He offered his hand, palm up on Grantaire’s thigh. “I’ll try if you will.” And Grantaire took his hand.

It was not a promise that there would always be someone there for him. But for once, Grantaire had a little hope in his life, that maybe believing in his soulmate was not such a bad idea.


End file.
